Dr. Morton told her.
She stood a moment awestruck; Chicken Little had never had death come so near her before. Then she turned to Sherm, her face so full of tender pity that his face softened a trifle.
“Don’t worry about me, Chicken Little,” he said 365gruffly, “I am all right. If you’ll help me knock my things together after a while, I’ll be grateful. I guess I’ll take a–walk–now.” His voice broke a little at the last.
He did not wait for an answer, but walked hurriedly away. Jane gazed after him, undecided whether to follow or not. Dr. Morton divined her thought. “I wouldn’t, dear. Let him have it out alone first–you can comfort him later on. I want you to help me persuade him not to rush off before he receives his mother’s letter. I must say I don’t blame Sherm for resenting his mother’s attitude. I think she is making a big mistake.”
Dusk came and the darkness closed round while Chicken Little strained her eyes in vain for Sherm. It was almost ten before he came back. She was standing at the gate watching for him. The rest of the family had gone to bed. “Chicken Little can comfort him better than any of us,” Dr. Morton had told his wife. “He will be glad not to have to face any of the rest of the family to-night.”
“You shouldn’t have stayed up, Chicken Little,” Sherm called, as soon as he caught sight of her. “I forgot I asked you to help me–I’d have come home sooner if I’d remembered. The duds can wait till morning–I can get up early.” He spoke quietly.
“Do you think you ought to go, Sherm?”
Sherm’s eyes smouldered. Jane could not see him 366very distinctly, but she could fairly feel his determination.
“It’s no use talking, I’m going!”
They went up the walk in silence. The lilacs and the white syringia in the borders were in bloom. She hoped Sherm did not notice the heavy fragrance–it was so like a funeral. He did not say anything till they got to the foot of the stairs.